


Enticing Fate

by HopelessOwls



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Romance, Zutara Month 2014
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-11 18:31:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1176452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopelessOwls/pseuds/HopelessOwls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zutara Month 2014 entries</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hidden

Zuko slid down, grimacing as bark scraped his back. He peered into the darkness, waiting silently until he saw a small shadow approach him.

Katara knelt down next to him, smoothing her skirts. She smiled, reaching out to brush a lock of hair from his face, tucking it behind his ear, letting her fingers linger on the edge of his scar. She looked beautiful, Zuko thought; her hair was down, curly around her shoulders, falling to her waist, and the moonlight making her bright eyes sparkle.

"Do we really have to meet here? Wouldn't it just be easier to… tell them?" she murmured, wrapping her callused fingers around his palm. She curled her body next to his, easily fitting in the space under his arm.

Zuko sighed, frowning. She'd asked him this before and Zuko hated giving her the same answer. "You know why, Katara. And you know I wish we could just tell everybody. But we can't. Not yet anyway – not until I can change the council's opinion." He wished he could say yes. He wished he could go the council that night and tell them his intentions. He wished he could tell  _everybody_.

Katara smiled again, understanding and sad, dropping their entwined fingers to her lap. "I know. I just wish I could tell Sokka."

"And I wish I could tell my uncle," Zuko sighed, pulling her to his chest and pressing his nose to her soft hair, inhaling the fragrance that was heady and sharp and completely Katara. "But unless we can make sure they can keep their mouths shut – and we both know Iroh can't do that – we have to wait." Zuko tilted her head up to him, kissing her gently, savoring the softness of her mouth.

"But we won't wait forever will we?"

"No. This is only for now." Zuko wrapped his arms tightly around her, rubbing circles against her back.

"Promise? I'll hold you to that." Katara gave him a sly look, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and kissing the corner of his mouth.

"Promise."

 


	2. Sleep

Zuko was aware of hands pushing him back, disjointed voices telling him different things.

"My lord, please go back into the hallway."

"Fire Lord Zuko, please –"

"Please, my lord, it will be better if you aren't here."

"Fire Lord, please, I know this is hard, but you must –"

He ignored them, pushing through the cradle of hands that tried to hold him back. He couldn't move his gaze away, even when he heard the soft crying from the far corner of the small room.

"There's so much blood, why is there so much blood," he heard himself gasp. There was blood on the sheets, blood on the floor, blood on her skin. The entire room was red, from the stained white sheets to the dark crimson curtains hanging in front of the windows.

Two strong hands pushed at his chest, keeping him from reaching the bed. Reaching out, his fingers brushed against damp silk sheets as he stained to touch her.

"Fire Lord, Fire Lord Zuko," a woman said softly, but sternly, pushing him back, "please, go back into the hallway." Her small fingers curled into the front of his robes as she kept him back, kept him away.

"No, Katara, she's – she needs me, she's hurt." His voice sounded thick, like his tongue had suddenly swollen to twice its size.

Zuko stared into her wide eyes, waiting for her to blink at him, to smile and tell him to see their child. Her eyes were different somehow, like something changed inside of her, broken off and fallen into the infant struggling in a nurse's arms. Zuko frowned, reaching for her hand. "Katara. Katara."

"Fire Lord Zuko, you must listen. Please, go to the hallway. Please." More hands reached for him, pulling him back. "There is nothing more we can do for her, nothing more. Please go." Someone leaned over Katara, pulling a clean sheet over her body and gently closing her eyes.

"What do you mean there's nothing more? Nothing more for what? She's –she's just tired, she'll wake up soon."

"No, Fire Lord," the midwife murmured, hands almost stroking his chest as she tried to force him out of the room. "She won't. She's not sleeping. Don't you understand? She's gone."

"Gone? What do you mean, gone? She's right there." Zuko pushed through the barrier she and the other nurses made, wrapping his fingers around Katara's small, callused palm. He blinked, surprised at the chill of her skin. Hers was always a littler cooler than his firebending heated skin was, but never cold like that – never cold like she had been holding ice.

"Katara? Katara, please, wake up. Wake up."

He clambered onto the bed, dampness soaking into the cloth covering his knees, holding her shoulders in his hands. He shook her, gently, and then hard enough to make her head loll around on her shoulders. "Katara! Wake up!"

The sound of infant crying sounded louder as he slumped down, pressing the side of his head against her chest until it was the only thing he could make out. There was nothing else, no sound of a steady heartbeat resonating from the center of Katara's chest. Just the sound of shrill crying filling his mind.

Tears rolled down his chin, dark spots appearing on Katara's loose blue dress as a sob broke through Zuko's throat. He pushed her eyes open, pressing a wet kiss to her forehead. "Katara, please wake up. Please."

Katara's eyes stared back at him, glassy, dull, and lifeless.


	3. Confession

Zuko wasn't sure just how he should tell her. Should he just go up to her and spit it out? Katara would probably step on his toes (which hurt, a lot, for someone so small). Or maybe he could get Sokka to tell her? Then she'd probably step on both of their toes and punch Zuko is the stomach.

He was holed up in Sokka's room, pushing the curtains covering his window back every other minute to stare at the driveway. He grimaced, wilting back against the wall. "What do you think she'll do to me?"

Sokka, looking over the top of his comic book, gave him a thoughtful look. "Who knows? She'll either forgive you, or she'll make your life hell for the next two months."

Zuko shot Sokka a dirty look, sitting down on the edge of his unmade bed. He glared at the bundle of brown and white cloth in his hands, wrapping the soft fabric around his hands. "Do you think she would let me off the hook if I buy her a new one?" He doubted it. Katara loved that sweater – for good reason, Zuko thought; the light blue pattern matched her eyes perfectly and the soft white color made her dark skin look warm and so touchable. Not that Zuko was about to tell Sokka that.

"If you can find another." Sokka shrugged, throwing his comic book on the floor. "But you probably can't."

Zuko shot to his feet and winced when the front door slammed shut, Katara's voice calling out to Sokka. Sokka gave Zuko a sympathetic look as he walked out of the room, holding his hand up and telling Zuko to stay.

Zuko listened closely and heard Sokka stomp down the stairs, his words to Katara muffled by the peeling door. Zuko crept closer, pressing his good ear to the crack, and then his forehead when he heard Katara coming up the stairs. "What do you mean Zuko has something to tell me? What is it?" he heard her low, wary voice ask, growing closer.

Not bothering to listen to Sokka's reply, Zuko lay back on the bed, using the ruined sweater as a pillow. Closing his eyes, he didn't move when the door banged open and Sokka left him and Katara alone.

"Zuko, what are you doing?" He opened his eyes, watching as Katara dropped her bag and sat down next to his head. He tipped his face away, frowning. She poked him in the side, wiggling her finger into his ribs. "Are you okay?"

Zuko lifted his head, holding the sweater over his chest so that she could see the large, chocolate stain on the front. He let it drop on his lap as he leaned on his elbows. "We were trying to make milkshakes and the blender exploded." He ran a hand through his hair, watching her with an apologetic expression. "I'm sorry."

Zuko felt guilt stir in his stomach as her expression crumpled and she reached out to take it from him. Smoothing it down on her lap, she avoided his eyes. "This was my favorite."

Zuko sat up, letting his hands fall limp in his lap. "I know." He rubbed a hand through his hair, watching her carefully guarded expression. "I tried to wash it but,.." Silence fell while Katara ran her fingers over the stain, frowning and Zuko tried to find some way to come up with an adequate apology.

Katara finally looked up at him, a small smile on her face and Zuko blinked in surprise. "It's okay, Zuko. It was getting worn out anyway." She dropped the sweater next to her, still running her fingers over the stains. "How did you manage to do that anyway?"

"I, uh, forgot to put the top on before I turned it on," Zuko muttered, feeling the blush creeping across his cheeks.

Katara stifled a giggle with her hand and stood up, grabbing her bag and ruined sweater. "Next time, just ask me to make you idiots drinks." She strode across the room, kicking away piles of cloths and abandoned books, and paused with her hand on the doorknob before looking at him over his shoulder. "Oh, and Zuko? You're buying me a new sweater."


	4. Garden

Zuko pushed himself off the cold stone column, chewing his rough bottom lip warily. He eyed Katara as he approached, slowly so that she didn't startle and freeze him to the column he had finally moved from; he had learned from their many years of marriage to never approach Katara when she wasn't expecting him, especially when she was in a less than good mood.

She was sitting under the old tree in the middle of the garden, knees tucked under her chin. Not moving, she sat and stared at the small pond, the clear water trembling in the still night. Her face was set like stone, not betraying a single thought running through her head.

Zuko took a moment to appreciate her beauty, something he clearly hadn't done enough in his youth. Gray had finally touched her hair – nearly a decade after his, which she teased him about as often as she could – and small lines had appeared around her eyes and mouth. But, to him, she looked just as beautiful as she had when she was twenty and she was standing across from him repeating the sacred vows that made her his wife. Her eyes still shown with passionate determination and her body was still capable of waterbending anybody into being frozen to the ceiling, something many nobleman forgot as she grew older and bore children.

Zuko settled down next to her, adjusting his thin robes. She didn't look up at him, just stared down at the water that still shook with the whirlwind of emotions that flowed through her. Zuko frowned sadly before wrapping an arm around her shoulders, rubbing comforting circles into her arm. "Katara? It's nearly dawn. You've been out here all night. Do you want to talk?"

She pressed her face into her knees, shaking her head minutely. Zuko sighed, resting his head against hers, pressing a kiss to her hair. "Okay."

They sat in silence for a time, before Katara sat up more fully, rubbing her red, swollen eyes. She curled her body into his side, burying her face into his shoulder, snaking her arms around his chest. She sniffled, letting Zuko cradle her to him as he murmured soothing words into her hair. "Sokka says he isn't going to get better. That I should start saying goodbye."

Zuko said nothing, rubbing his hot hands up and down her back. Katara didn't wait for him to respond, instead continuing on in that same, sad, defeated voice. "He said he's too sick and too old to get better. He wants me to visit before…" Her shoulders started shaking and her voice broke off. She shifted closer to him, a sob breaking through her tight throat.

"Do you want to go alone? It's okay if you do. I understand." Zuko ran his fingers through her thick hair, pulling out pins still left in from the night before.

She shook her head against his chest. "No. The kids deserve a chance to say goodbye. And I," her voice dropped to a whisper and Zuko nearly had to lean down to hear her, "…I don't want to do it alone."

Zuko nodded. "Whatever you need, Katara. I'll be there." He hugged her tightly. "Whatever you need."

Katara sniffled again. "He's my father, Zuko. And he's dying. How can I stare him in the face and say goodbye? I don't want to say goodbye."

"I know," Zuko muttered. "No one wants to say goodbye." He gathered her in his arms as rain began falling from the heavy clouds and stood, grunting slightly under the strain. Carrying her out of the small, silent garden, he headed back towards their room, keeping his golden eyes on Katara's downcast face.

She clutched the front of his robes, pressing her face in between her fists, tears soaking into the fabric. "I don't want to say goodbye."


	5. Sadness

Katara sat on the wide bed, absently running her fingers over the silk, crimson sheets. Pressing her cheek to her knees, she allowed the salty tears to soak into the thin fabric of her robe, dark blue splotches against cyan.

She hunched closer in on herself when the door opened, creaking loudly in the silent room. She didn't look up to see who was there – she already knew. She didn't move when the mattress dipped with another person's weight and a hand tentatively reached out to brush against her arm.

Zuko moved closer to her, close enough for her to feel the heat of his body on her side and back. She kept her face turned away from him, clenching silk sheets in her fist. He sat close to her, not quite touching, but enough for her to know he was there, to feel his soft breath against her cheek.

"Katara?" he murmured.

"What?" she hissed, harshly and without looking at him to see his reaction.

Now he did touch her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pressing his face into her shoulder. Katara didn't move. "I'm sorry," he mumbled into her neck, breath steaming out across her skin. "I shouldn't have said that to you."

"No, you shouldn't have." Katara wrapped her arms tighter around herself, hiding her face behind a curtain of dark, curly hair. "You went too far, Zuko."

"I know," he agreed softly. "I know." He rubbed her arm with one hand, trailing his fingers from wrist to elbow. "I won't make excuses for myself."

"Good."

Zuko was silent for a moment, frowning into her neck as he tried to find the words to express himself. "I am sorry," he whispered, his apology made more sincere by the sad, remorseful tone of his voice. He laughed suddenly, the dark sound scratching out his throat. "I don't know why I say the things I do."

Katara stayed silent, tears still leaking out of closed eyes. She didn't move when Zuko got up to leave. She didn't hold a hand out to stop him from going or say anything to keep him in the room.

As the door closed, Katara buried her face in her arms, a sob breaking through her throat.


	6. Quiet

Zuko thought he would like it better if she yelled at him. If she screamed insults and threats until her voice was hoarse and blood vessels burst in her eyes.

But she never did, not after the first words spoken to him, when she threatened to take his life in place of the young Avatar's.

No, she didn't yell at him, or speak to him, or even look at him for a second longer than needed for her to convey her absolute disdain for his entire person. She would glance up when he entered a room, blue eyes cold and icy, drilling into him like she was trying to pierce his brain with the force of her gaze. She would huff, throw her long, curly hair, sometimes braid, over her shoulder and turn back to whatever she was doing, whether it be cooking, or cleaning, or absently playing with water left on the ground from the rain. And even then, even with her back to him and ignoring him her primary task, he could still feel the coolness radiating from her.

And sometimes, maybe when he said something wrong, or did something wrong, or when she was reminded that even though he was helping them, he was still Fire Nation and shared roots with her mother's murderer, her bright blue eyes would darken to almost black, sparkling with dark anger. She wouldn't say anything; she would just stare at him like she wished she wasn't so good and could act on her feelings.

Zuko wished she would say something.

Her quiet hatred was killing him. The tension he felt whenever they were within five feet of each other was almost enough for him to say something, but every time he opened his mouth, under her cold stare the words would shrivel and die on the tip of his tongue. She almost seemed like she was waiting for him to speak, too – she would watch him, eyebrow arched, as he struggled under the weight of her silent judgments.

But since Zuko had neither the courage nor the foolishness to try and convince her that he wasn't as awful as she believed – because, honestly, she had every right to hate him, and every right to think of him as she did – they stayed in their silent battles of will, battles Katara won every time they fought, where Zuko could do nothing but endure.

He was lying on a bed his thirteen year old self would have refused to touch, staring at the dark ceiling when something changed. The rain was heavy outside, sheets and sheets of water battering stone walls already worn with time. Zuko tried not to think how in the morning he would have to gather sopping clothes from the laundry room that had more leaks than roof, or how the area they used as a dining room would practically be flooded.

Sighing, he rolled onto his side, pressing a pillow to his head to block out the noise. It would end soon, he knew – in this part of the world, the clouds emptied an ocean onto the earth, but it never lasted long.

He was half-asleep when he heard a strange sloshing outside of his door, a soft sound made louder in the silence following the rain. He frowned, throwing off thin sheets that he used less for warmth and more for comfort, and pressing his feet to the cold, stone floor.

Cracking his door open, just enough to peek out, he was surprised to find Katara walking down the hall, dark hair pressed to her face, soggy underclothes hanging from her skinny frame and robes folded over her arm, water dripping onto stone with every step she took. After staring at her for a moment, he stepped out into the hallway, clearing his throat.

She stiffened, but did not spin around. From the tightness of her shoulders, he thought it had less to do with surprising her in the middle of the night and more to do with the fact that she was nearly naked, with thin, white cloth nearly see-through with water.

Zuko stepped closer, stopping when he was nearly a foot away. She must have been trying to keep the rain away, he realized. It was something she would do – one thing he knew Katara possessed, something at the very core of her being, was her need to help people, even those who did not deserve or ask for it.

Holding his breath and ready to run at the first sign of danger, Zuko pressed his already warming hands to her hair, water steaming away to nothing as the soft heat of his palms dragged her soft tresses.

She held very still as he combed his fingers through, until her hair was shiny and dry, sliding down to her waist in a waterfall of dark brown. He dropped his hands, stepping back so that if she wanted to hit him, he was out of reach and rubbing his arms as he waited for her to do something. He expected her to walk away, stiff-backed and head held high in the air or maybe condescend to spare him a glare before huffing with annoyance and leaving him alone in the hallway.

Instead, she looked over her shoulder, blue eyes lacking any sign of animosity that Zuko could find. A thoughtful frown tugged at her mouth as she surveyed him. "Thank you." She turned, hair swinging across her back as she walked back to her room.

It was nothing more than a whisper, grudgingly spoken, but Zuko smiled as if she had given him her forgiveness. It wasn't much, he thought as he closed the door to his room behind him, but it was a start.

The silence between them had finally been broken.


	7. Melt

Katara sat down on the hard bench, making sure the dark green jacket covered every inch of her jeans from the morning dew. She absently smoothed the wrinkles in her shirt before pulling the heavy, grey textbook out of her bag with a grimace. Flipping through the pages until she found the chapter she wanted, she pushed her hair behind her ears and began to read about intermolecular forces and hexane molecules.

She didn't realize how long she had been sitting on the bench until a hand scraped against her back and a body settled down on the bench next to her. Looking up from the last page of her chapter, her eyes widened as she took in the boy sitting next to her, all lanky legs splayed out in front of him and dark hair falling into his eyes.

He looked at her expectantly, golden eyes peering at her over the rim of his coffee cup. Katara sat up, tucking a wayward curl behind her ear. "Hi?"

"Hi," he said, looking down to the cup in his hands before meeting her eyes again. "Your name's Katara, right?"

"Yeah," she murmured warily, tapping the end of her pen against the thick book and wondering who the hell this boy was and why he had decided to interrupt her study time to ask her name. "And yours is…?"

"Zuko. I'm your tutor."

"O-oh." Katara let the book fall limp in her lap, turning her attention more fully on the boy next to her. He was handsome – very handsome, with dark hair and bright eyes and pale skin. The only marring of his body that Katara could see was the large burn scar covering half of his face and pulling his eye into a squint, but she found that it did nothing to detract from his fine features.

"Yeah, well, I guess since you already have your book out, we might as well start." He stuffed the cup in between them, heat soaking into Katara's thigh through her jeans and shifted the book in her lap so he could read it. "Intermolecular forces? That's not that bad."

"Everything in AP Chemistry is hard," she muttered, trying to ignore the thumping of her heart. His fingers brushed against her lap as he leaned over her to read the book. She was blushing – her face felt hot, her entire body felt hot, like everything inside of her chest had somehow superheated and was melting into her stomach and twisting into a gut-clenching, nervous feeling at the very center of her abdomen.

A smirk pulled his lips up at the corner as he glanced up at her. "That's why I'm tutoring you."


	8. Storm

Rain in the Fire Nation was always impossible for Zuko to ignore. It fell in dark grey sheets that blocked out the sun and when one stepped out into the deluge, it was hard to make out anything that wasn't inches from their eyes. Water pounded against houses, twisting trees so that they too added to the loud cacophony when branches scraped against windows and creaked against the wind.

Zuko forced his open, glaring at the flashing lighting through the dark window. He had been lying in bed for hours, kicking blankets away and trying not to disturb his sleeping wife – how Katara was even asleep was a marvel – wishing the rain would patter off to silence or that he had something to occupy him that wasn't paperwork.

Katara rolled over, wrapping an arm around him and burying her face into his chest. Zuko grimaced, her body heat only making him more uncomfortable in the sticky humidity that stone walls did nothing to dispel. She mumbled something, stirring when thunder shook the sky.

With a yawn, she opened her eyes and blinked in confusion. "What time is it?" she groaned, snuggling closer to him and pulling the blanket over her shoulder.

"Around midnight, I think."

She sighed, lying on her back. "Have you been awake this whole time?" She looked over his chest when the room brightened as lightning struck, grimacing.

"Mhm," Zuko murmured, pulling her to his chest. "The storm's been keeping me awake."

"You have a meeting tomorrow morning." She ran her hand over the scar on his chest, absently tracing the star-like shape of rough tissue. "You should sleep."

"What do you think I've been doing the past three hours?"

Katara smiled, pressing two hands to his chest and leaning over him. Zuko brushed the hair that fell over her shoulders out of his face, tilting his face to press his mouth to Katara's. "I'm not tired," he said, rubbing his hands over her hips.

"I think I can do something about that," Katara whispered, kissing him more deeply and sliding her hands into his hair.

Zuko smiled through the kiss, pushing Katara's robe off her shoulders.

Maybe not being able to sleep during thunderstorms had some advantages.


	9. Fight

Katara knew going into the marriage that they would fight – a lot. Both Katara and Zuko were proud, impulsive, and quick to anger. Neither would back down from an argument until they had both stormed off and let their anger stew for at least a couple hours, and one of them (the one in the wrong) finally apologized.

And while they were quick to fight, and slow to calm, they were both quick to forgive as well. Most things they fought about were small, like how Zuko didn't like it when Katara's hair ended up in his face while they slept, or how Katara didn't like how late Zuko worked and how little sleep he got. Usually, their fights started out as small disagreements and evolved into shouting matches and slammed doors. The original cause of the fight was often forgotten minutes after the fight started.

And they had found ways to alleviate some of the anger they felt towards each other in the aftermath of their arguments. Sparring was one way – Katara often took great pleasure in freezing Zuko to something, grinning while he swore and steamed. The other was sex – after they were done, both were too tired to fight and often discussed their problems civilly and everything was resolved.

Of course, they had had some big fights. Conflicts that led to them not speaking to each other for a week, or Katara sleeping in a different room – they were about more serious things and were a lot harder to forgive. Instead of just moving on, as they usually did, forgetting whatever they had disagreed on in the first place, those things had to be talked through until they could work something out and find a compromise.

Big fights didn't happen often, so when Zuko and Katara ended up screaming at each other in the middle of the night because Katara wanted to spend some time with her family in the South Pole and Zuko didn't want her traveling that late in her pregnancy, Katara was surprised.

She found herself in the kitchen, digging ice cream out of the carton with a large spoon – something else Zuko hated – salty tears leaking out of her eyes. She was seated on the table, leaning against the wall with her knees drawn up as closely to her chin as she could get them with her rounded stomach.

Honestly, Katara understood why Zuko didn't want her leaving. It was late in her pregnancy, and she didn't want to end up giving birth on a ship or away from Zuko just as much as he didn't want to miss it. But it was Sokka's wedding – Katara had to be there. She couldn't miss her brother and one of her best friend's wedding. She had been waiting for Sokka to propose to Suki since her wedding.

Katara would've thought about asking Zuko to come as a compromise if she didn't know it would be impossible. Zuko had his duties as Fire Lord; he couldn't just drop everything and spend months away from his homeland.

Katara huddled closer to the wall when she heard the door bang open and a quiet curse at the noise. Katara peeked over her shoulder at Zuko, dressed in his red robe with his hair loose around his shoulders, uneven and choppy (he insisted on cutting it himself, with a dagger – something Katara hated).

She looked away, sticking her spoon in her mouth as he approached. "Katara?" he said softly.

Katara shook her head at him without looking back. "Katara?" he murmured again, softly touching her back. "Please turn around. I want to talk."

Reluctantly, Katara stuck her spoon into the melting chocolate ice cream, halfway turning to face him. She frowned. "What?"

He pushed himself up onto the counter, sitting cross-legged next to her. Stealing her spoon, he stuck a mouthful of ice cream between his lips. "We should talk." He leaned back, pulling one of her hands into his lap, absently playing with her fingers. "I know how much you want be there for Sokka's wedding."

"He's my brother, Zuko. I have to be there," Katara murmured. "I know it's bad timing. I want you to be there for the birth of our first child as much as you do, but I have to be there." She turned her pleading gaze onto him, clutching his hand.

Zuko wiped the salty trails from her tears off of her cheeks with his thumbs. "How about this? I come with you to the wedding. That way if the baby comes, I'll still be there. Maybe we could even stay until it does – I know you want your family to be there too."

Katara blinked. "But, you can't just leave – you have –"

"Uncle Iroh will take over for me." Zuko pulled Katara into his arms, settling his chin on the crown of her head. "He just spent the last hour telling me I was an idiot and that he'll run things for me while I fix it."

Katara chuckled, leaning against her husband's chest. Leave it to Iroh to be there to set Zuko straight when they had trouble in their relationship.


	10. Legend

Katara hesitated, one hand wrapped around the wood of the doorway. She chewed on her bottom lip, curious as she stared into the small library. Zuko was sitting on one of the old stuffed chairs with his legs crossed and a book balanced on his knees, so absorbed in whatever he was reading that he hadn't even noticed her open the door.

Shaking her head, Katara closed the door behind her. "What are you reading?" She sat down in the armchair next to him, resting her chin on her forearms.

Zuko jumped, staring up at her in surprise. "Uh, nothing," he mumbled, good cheek flushing pink. "Just something I found."

Katara leaned over her chair, plucking the book out of Zuko's hands, pushing a finger between the pages to keep his place. She leafed through the book, recognizing some of the names as gods of the Fire Nation – Agni was most the most prominent. Katara was surprised to find that the story Zuko had been reading featured her own goddess, La.

"I didn't know there were any stories about Agni and La," Katara wondered aloud, flipping the page. "Where did you find this?"

Zuko cleared his throat. "It must have belonged to Uncle Iroh. I can't see anybody else being interested in those stories." He rubbed his palms on his thighs, fingers tugging at loose threads that stuck out from his loose pants. "I didn't know there were stories like that either."

Katara handed the book back to Zuko, curling her knees under her chin as she watched him. "Is it a nice story?"

"Uh, yeah. It's about Agni realizing his people needed water to and Tui refusing to give it to him because his people only needed fire. La was less selfish and gave water to Agni, but only if Agni gave fire to her people to warm them during the winter."

Katara smiled. "Good. I thought it might be some story about Agni and La defying nature and falling in love or something." As if La would ever fall in love with the Fire God. "I'm glad it isn't."

Zuko made a soft rasping sound that might have been a chuckle. "I don't think anyone in their right mind would write a story like that. The gods would blast them on the face of the earth."

Katara laughed as Zuko opened the book again, settling back in his chair. "Here's another. It's about how Tui became the Moon Goddess. Do you want me to read it to you? Well, I mean – I know you know the story already, but – well, this one could be a different version."

Katara nodded, folding her head on her arms again. "Go ahead. I'll tell you what's wrong."

The corner of Zuko's lip tipped up in a shy smile, rare for him but something Katara loved to see from the new Fire Lord, and pulled the book closer, leafing through to find the right page. As he started reciting, in his deep, rasping voice, Katara couldn't help but smirk at how wrong the story was.


End file.
